It's a Wonderful Life
by jeanie2914
Summary: Nathan Clay spends Christmas in New York. Just a little holiday fun; one shot only. If you haven't read Apres Moi or Bonjour Encore, this might be hard to follow.


_Merry Christmas Everyone! Probably not my best writing since I wrote it in one sitting, but it was fun to catch up with Nathan Clay! If you haven't read Apres Moi or Bonjore Encore, this might not make a lot of sense. :)_

 **It's a Wonderful Life**

"Unca Nay!"

Neal's eyes lit up like the Christmas Tree in the Burke living room window at the sight of his favorite Uncle standing in the doorway. The past several months had transformed _Uncle Nathan_ from two syllables to three and a hesitantly toddling child into a fearless sprinter.

Demonstrating his new found confidence, the child raced across the room, wrapping his little arms around his namesake's legs. Neal, who had managed to balance the presents in one arm to ring the doorbell, now grasped them with both to keep them from spilling to the floor. Snow swirled in around him, the flakes immediately melting as they reached the warm floor. Satchmo, hearing a familiar but long absent voice, trotted out from the back of the house and joined the welcoming committee, tail wagging frantically.

"Okay, Neal," Peter had opened the door and now bent down and scooped up his excited son. "Let Uncle Nathan in before he freezes. Move, Satchmo," he ordered, "Get out from under his feet!"

 _Uncle Nathan_ stepped into the house, and Peter pulled the door closed behind him, cutting off the flow of frigid air into the room. Little Neal's eyes fixed expectantly on the presents in Neal's arms but Peter, feeling the ever occurring grin spread across his face, fixed his on Neal's flushed cheeks and wet hair. Even though Neal had walked through his front door several times since he'd returned from the dead, it never ceased to bring delight to Peter's face and gratitude to his heart. The year Neal had been dead had been one of the darkest times in Peter's life. The only thing that had kept him from sinking into the depth of depression had been the arrival of _little_ Neal.

"You made it," Peter said, stepping into the living room. Neal followed him, laden with gifts, Satchmo on his heels.

"Finally," Neal replied with a sigh of relief. He moved towards the pile of presents already in place for the morrow's festivities. "My flight was out was delayed; they had to de-ice the plane, then getting into JFK was a nightmare."

"You're here!" Elizabeth exclaimed, emerging from the kitchen, a festive holiday apron protecting her dress. "Oh my," she added at the sight of Neal's cargo. "Santa Claus has arrived!"

 _"Père Noël,_ " Neal corrected with a grin, depositing the parcels with the others at the foot of the tree. He stroked Satchmo affectionately before straightening. "After all, I just came in from _Paris._ "

"I'm _so_ glad you're here," Elizabeth had crossed the room and now wrapped him in a tight hug. "Dinner is almost ready. Peter," she directed. "Grab a towel; Neal's poor head is dripping wet."

She was correct; the snow deposited on Neal's dark head had melted in the warmth of the room.

"Don't bother, Peter," Neal's gesture belied her order. "I can't stay. I just wanted to drop the gifts by for tomorrow."

"What?" Elizabeth replied in disappointment. She had a special evening planned, and Peter knew she wouldn't give up on it easily. "You promised a proper visit on Christmas Eve," She admonished. "We haven't seen you since _Thanksgiving_."

It was true. After Thanksgiving Brunch at June's, where they'd been joined by June's granddaughter and her fiance, as well as Mozzie, Nathan Clay had caught a flight to France. Gallery business, Neal had said, but Peter suspected it had to do more with his Gallery _Manager_ than the gallery itself. Opening a second gallery in New York had taken several months and Peter guessed Neal had missed spending time with the lovely Elodie Angevine.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," Neal apologized, wiping a trickle of melted snow that had escaped down the side of his face. "I _did_ plan to stay longer, but I thought I'd get into the city earlier. It's _late;_ I really should get home."

It still pleased Peter to hear Neal refer to New York as _home._ There was a time when he wasn't sure that would ever happen. Elizabeth met his eyes quickly, enlisting assistance.

"It's not _late,_ " she insisted, "It's _dinner time_ , and it's ready to put on the table, _please_ stay."

Peter saw a brief look of uncertainty before Neal shook his head. "It's really coming down out there," He nodded toward the large window that framed the tree; the swirling snow outside visible in the glare of the porch light. "If I stay I may not be able to _get_ home."

"Then just stay the night," Peter suggested; he knew that had been Elizabeth's gameplan all along. "We know Mozzie isn't in the city and Junes not due back until the day after tomorrow; so why not spend Christmas with us."

The quick, almost imperceptible widening of Neal's eyes told Peter he hadn't expected the invitation; their subsequent narrowing, coupled with a slight furrowing of his brow, told him he didn't know how to respond.

"That's very generous of you, but Christmas is for _family,_ " his eyes fell on little Neal who was sitting on the rug, stroking Satchmo. "I don't want to intrude."

Peter expected Neal to spend the holiday in his swank Parisian apartment with Elodie and had been surprised by his plans to come to New York instead. He'd thought Elodie might be accompanying him, but when he'd asked, Neal had told him that wasn't the case. They had never spent Christmas together, he explained. He celebrated Joyeux Noël with a stroll through the Christmas Markets on Christmas Eve, followed by a nice dinner and a glass of wine; Elodie celebrated with a cruise. This year, her destination was Italy, with port calls in Florence, Rome, and Naples. He had decided to come to New York.

He'd relayed their conversation to Elizabeth, and he knew the thought of Neal, drinking alone on Christmas Eve, had been the spark that had ignited her plan to make sure this year was different. Even a fifteen hundred dollar bottle of Coche-Dury Les Perrieres was no substitute for family.

"We've been over this before _Uncle Nathan_ ," Peter reminded him, grabbing Neal's heavy coat and pulling if off his shoulders. "You _are_ family, so you _can't_ intrude."

 **MerryChristmasMerryChristmasMerryChristmasMerryChristmas**

A joyful Elizabeth returned to the kitchen to put the final touches on the meal, and Peter invited their reluctant guest to sit. Peter could tell by the way Neal perched on the edge of the seat that he was uncomfortable, but a good thing about having a two-year-old in the house was that awkwardness didn't affect them. Little Neal began to carry toys from his bin to his _Unca Nay,_ bringing first a small train which, after jabbering enthusiastically for several moments, he handed over. Neal thanked him politely, and the toddler returned to the bin, dug out another treasure, and repeated the process.

"Can you set the table, Peter?"Elizabeth called from the kitchen. Peter did as he was asked and moments later, a platter of Cornish hens was placed on the table, quickly followed by Swiss Corn Bake, Caramelized Carrots, and Barley Vegetable Salad. Elizabeth had outdone herself; The smell was tantalizing, and Peter's mouth began to water. His wife equated a shared meal with feelings of home and family, something she was determined that Neal experience this Christmas. Finished with his task, and eager to taste the dinner his wife had prepared, Peter stepped into the living room and scooped up his son. "Dinner's ready," he said to Neal, "so come and get it."

It took a moment for Neal to free himself from the assortment of toys that he'd accumulated, but having done so he reached the table as Peter finished strapping little Neal into his high chair.

"Wow, Elizabeth," Neal said after taking his seat. "This looks wonderful; better than dinner on Avenue Montaigne. _"_

Peter raised his eyebrows, placing his napkin on his lap. "Where?"

 _"_ The Maison Blanche Restaurant," Neal explained. "My _usual_ Christmas Eve dining location."

"Well this is pretty humble compared to _that_ ," Elizabeth replied in amusement, sitting a Thomas the Train plate in front of her son. Little Neal grabbed a carrot, squeezing it into mush before trying to deposit it in his mouth. "But it's not bad for Avenue _DeKalb_."

The first official Christmas Eve dinner, just as the first official Burke Family dinner had been months earlier, was a complete success. The food was great, the conversation entertaining and Little Neal a perfect gentlemen; he didn't pelt their guest with a single vegetable. As the dinner progressed, Peter watched Neal grow more at ease, enjoying the meal and the cozy atmosphere of home and family; just as Elizabeth had known he would. He presented an aloof, detached facade to the world, a world that knew him as Nathan Clay, eccentric artist and gallery owner, but with certain people, if given enough time, he could relax and just be himself.

Dinner finished, Elizabeth removed the toddler from his chair. "I'm going up to get Neal cleaned up and into his Christmas pj's." She informed. "Then we can begin the Christmas Eve tradition."

"Don't worry," Peter responded to Neal's mild expression of alarm. "It's pretty painless. I'll read Luke, Chapter two," he stated, rising from his chair, "at least up until the _circumcising_ part. Then we'll go upstairs, tuck him into bed, and Elizabeth will read _Twas the Night Before Christmas_."

"Okay," Neal said, following Peter into the living room. "What happens after that?" His tone was similar to that of an agent trying to determine how dangerous a particular operation was apt to be.

"After that," Peter said, pulling the Bible from the bookshelf by the fireplace, "We come back down here, have a cup of eggnog, reminisce about our favorite Christmas memories, and watch _It's a Wonderful life._ "

"It's a Wonderful Life?" Neal repeated. "Is that supposed to be _funny?_ "

"No," Peter looked at him innocently. "It's not a comedy; it's a _classic._ " He frowned. "Are you telling me you've never _seen_ it?"

"Of course I've _seen_ it," Neal replied indignantly, " _It's a classic."_ He paused. "It's just the plot that I find ironic." He met Peter's eyes. "You know, the whole wanting-to-die-then-coming-back-and-appreciating everything-you-took-for-granted thing?"

"Yeah," Peter grinned. "I guess you have more in common with old George than just his name."

"Funny, _Petie_ ," Neal retorted. "But did you pick that movie for my benefit?"

Peter shot Neal a mock warning look at the use of his highly classified childhood nickname. "No, I didn't," he stated firmly. "Elizabeth and I watch it every year. It's a tradition. How about you?" He flipped through the Bible and found the aforementioned chapter. "Don't you have some holiday tradition you've kept?"

"No," Neal replied. "not really. I guess I've never been the traditional _type._ "

"Well, that's about the change," Elizabeth announced, arriving at the bottom of the stairs. The younger Neal was clad green and red plaid pajamas. "Its time to start some."

She brought Neal over and sat down on the sofa. Peter joined her, and Neal took a seat across from them on the chair.

Everyone listened as Peter began to read. He'd read this chapter many times as a child, and had read it the past two Christmases with Elizabeth and his son but for some reason, he felt his throat tightening as he read it tonight. There was something special happening; he could feel it. He kept his eyes on the page, not daring to look up and see Neal's face. He just kept reading.

When he finished, he did look up and although Neal's eyes had been fixed on him, the young man quickly looked away. Peter then spoke to his son, and then Elizabeth.

"Want to come up with us?" Elizabeth asked. "It's my turn to read now, but I get to read _Twas the Night Before Christmas_."

"That's okay," Neal's voice sounded husky, and although he'd met Elizabeth's eyes, he seemed unable to hold her gaze. "I will just wait down here."

Peter thought about reiterating the invitation but decided against it; this was a lot for Neal, and he didn't want to overwhelm him.

"If you want to mix the Eggnog," Peter offered, laying the Bible down on the coffee table. "It's in the fridge; rum is on the counter." He grinned. "Don't be _stingy."_

He and Elizabeth took their son upstairs to finish out their Christmas Eve tradition. When they had kissed him goodnight, they returned to find Neal had mixed them each a holiday drink. Each took one, and Elizabeth started with her favorite Christmas memory. She had two; the first when was eleven had gotten a pair of ice skates and skated for the first time in Central Park. The second had been the first Christmas after Neal was born. Then it was Peter's turn. His favorite memory was of a Christmas his family had spent at his Grandparent's house upstate when he was eleven. When he finished, he looked at Neal.

Neal remained silent. Peter hadn't meant to put him on the spot; he had a feeling Neal didn't have fond memories of Christmas.

"I'm sorry, Neal," Peter flustered. "You don't have to..."

"It's okay," Neal said quietly. "I don't mind." He looked first at Elizabeth, and then back to Peter. "It's this _one_ ," he stated simply. " _This_ is my favorite Christmas memory."

"Just the first of _many,_ Neal," Elizabeth said, her eyes brimming with tears. She had accomplished her task and given Neal his greatest Christmas present ever.

"Christmas _is_ for family," Peter said, agreeing with Neal's earlier statement. He placed his arm around the young man's shoulder. "And you have one; Right here."

Neal too seemed on the verge tears; his eyes were full of emotion.

"You know what they say," he held up his eggnog for a toast, prompting both Elizabeth and Peter to raise their glasses. " _It's a Wonderful Life."_


End file.
